


Only Escape

by clarako_ (CoNic18)



Category: The Resident (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:47:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25438693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoNic18/pseuds/clarako_
Summary: This is a spin-off of 03x14, The Flea, where Nic is sick on Conrad's first day back at Chastain. I hope you like it!I chose not to rate this story, but instead provide specific content warnings. There is mention of blood, health-related ailments, and eating disorders. This last topic is deeply personal to me, and what I wrote was based off my personal experience with an eating disorder. I understand that this story does not encapsulate fully the complexity of the disease (after all, this is a fictional piece), but bringing awareness to topics like this is extremely important. I do not claim this is the only way one can experience this type of eating disorder, nor that this story represents all eating disorders. Again, this is based on my personal experience, and I hope that in sharing this, people can realize they are not alone.Here is a link to the National Eating Disorders Association (NEDA) resources page if you feel you or someone you know may be in need of support: https://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/help-support/covid-19-resources-page.I do not own these characters. All underlined text is quoted from episode 03x14.
Relationships: Conrad Hawkins/Nicolette Nevin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	Only Escape

“How excited are you about your first day back in the trenches?” Nic asked, stroking Conrad’s hair as they laid in bed, the morning sun slipping through their window and caressing their bare skin with its golden rays.

“I cannot wait to be back. I missed practicing medicine, but I also missed seeing you all day,” Conrad replied, bringing his hands to cup her face as she rolled on top of him.

“Mm, I missed you, too,” she whispered, inching her face closer towards his. Just before their lips met, Nic was overcome with a wave of nausea, and she immediately bolted out of bed. She rushed into their bathroom and closed the door, feeling her stomach clenching uncomfortably.

“Nic?” Conrad asked nervously as he quickly followed her into the bathroom.

She knelt on the bathroom floor and started throwing up. She tried to send Conrad away, not wanting to worry him and distract from his excitement about his first day back at Chastain, but he was right up next to her, rubbing her back and holding her hair out of her face. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

“It’s going to be alright,” he whispered soothingly, tracing rhythmic patterns along her back as she trembled and continued coughing into the toilet.

She felt truly awful, but she really didn’t want to ruin this day for him. She tried to pull herself together and hide how terrible she was actually feeling, so she slowly moved away from her crouched-over position to lean against Conrad, listening to his heartbeat to try and distract from her nausea. She took a couple deep breaths, and finally, she felt as though she could speak.

“Conrad, I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice raspy and weak.

“Hey, you have nothing to apologize for. How do you feel now?” he asked, his voice calm yet so caring. He brought his hands to her arms, carefully checking for a radial pulse at her wrist while simultaneously counting her respirations, without Nic knowing what he was doing. Typically, she would have caught on right away, but she was so focused on not throwing up again that she missed the fact that he was collecting data on her. He noticed her heart and respiration rates were a little elevated, which is normal after throwing up, but he wanted to hear what she had to say about how she was feeling.

“I-I’m alright, Conrad, thank you,” she replied, continuing to fight back another wave of nausea.

“Hm, really?” he teased slightly, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. “Because it looks like you’re going to throw up again any second now. You’re pale as a ghost.”

“You’re going to be late to your first day back,” she said, ignoring him and tilting her head back to meet his eyes with hers. “I don’t want you to be late. I’m fine, I promise,” she added.

“There are so many days where we’ll be working together at Chastain, but if we don’t figure out what’s going on here, I’m not sure that will be the case,” he responded, kissing her forehead to feel her temperature. He noticed a slight fever, and he felt her hands were a little clammy. “Besides, if you’ve got something, then chances are I’ll also be sick and can’t go in anyway. It looks like you’re stuck with me,” he added with a sweet smile.

She chuckled softly, trying not to disrupt her stomach for fear that she would throw up again. “I am feeling better, really. I bet it was probably that table-side Caesar I ate last night. You know that little asterisk they put on the menu?”

“‘This contains raw egg?’” he replied.

“Why did I ignore it?” she groaned, leaning her head against his chest as she pulled his arms around her body.

“Because you’d rather live life on the edge, like me,” he chuckled, kissing the top of her head.

“I am pretty convinced this is food poisoning, and I’ll be just fine. I really wanted to be with you your first day back, but I don’t want you to miss it because of me. So go, right now, or you’re really going to be late,” she replied, turning and kissing his cheek softly. “See? Feeling better already,” she lied, already feeling the nausea getting stronger.

“Nic, I really don’t have to go. I—” he began.

“No,” she interrupted, trying to get him out before she had to throw up again. “I just need rest, I promise.”

“I’ll only go if you call me the second you need anything, if you throw up again, or if anything changes,” he said, holding her tight to make sure she understood how serious he was.

“Conrad, you’re amazing. I promise, I will be fine. And yes, I’ll call you if anything happens,” she replied, meeting his gaze with the same intensity he possessed. “Now go on and get changed. I need to clean up in here,” she added, giggling and reluctantly pushing his body off her. She desperately wanted him to stay, but she knew just how hard he had worked to get back to Chastain. She didn’t want to have to make him choose between his work and his partner, especially now when he just got back this major part of his identity.

He hesitantly stood, his hand still holding hers. “Nic, I need you to be completely honest with me. I am going to worry about you all day, and I want to make sure that you’ll let me know if you need me at all. Even for the smallest thing. I know this sounds selfish, but I can’t lose anything else. Especially you,” he said with a serious, sobering tone.

“I will be alright,” she replied, feeling her nausea creep in again. “You don’t have to worry about me, I’m a Nurse Practitioner after all. And I’m positive it’s just a little food poisoning. If the roles were reversed, you’d also insist I go, and I’d be worried out of my mind. But I promise, I can update you about every sneeze if that would ease your conscience,” she replied, allowing herself to softly chuckle, risking feeling sick.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead once more, feeling a tiny bit better about leaving her at home, seeing how much she was pushing it. He still would rather be with her, but he wanted to respect her decision. “I trust you, Nic. And I do expect an update about every sneeze,” he chuckled. “Oh, and one more thing. The kitchen is stocked—bananas, rice…” he began.

“…applesauce, toast, yes I’m well aware of the BRAT diet,” she replied, finishing his list and smiling up at him. “Conrad, I have everything I need, I’ll be just fine. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he said, offering his hand to help her stand back up.

She hesitantly took it, wanting to show him that she was alright and able to take care of herself today. She stood slowly, smiling at him through her dizziness and ever-growing nausea. He gave her hands a quick squeeze and made his way out of the bathroom. She watched him change into a fitted black cotton long-sleeve and black skinny jeans, and he collected the rest of his things, making sure his new white coat was packed neatly.

“I’ll be home as soon as I can,” he said, poking his head back into the bathroom as Nic ran the water to rinse her mouth out.

“Stay out of trouble,” she replied, turning to face him and smile.

He chuckled, grabbing her hand again and squeezing it, looking into her eyes, really wanting to make sure she was okay. Nic desperately wanted to hold him right there and never let go because she did need him, but she also really didn’t want to ruin this day. She knew how important this was, but what she didn’t realize was just how important she was to him.

Conrad left, but he left with doubts and worry, walking out of their bedroom, down the stairs, out of the house, and just outside of Chastain. All he could think about was Nic, knowing fair and well that she was definitely not feeling well. He couldn’t stop thinking about her symptoms, and he waited desperately to hear anything from her. Just when he couldn’t bear it any longer, she finally texted.

 _Just wanting to let you know I am doing just fine! Still feeling a bit sick, but definitely better than earlier this morning. I don’t want you to worry, please. Have a good first day back! I’ll be with you in spirit <3_, her message read.

Conrad sighed, relieved, before walking into Chastain. _That’s good to hear! Keep me posted. I miss you already,_ he responded, putting his phone in his pocket as he was greeted by Devon and Irving.

As soon as Conrad left the house and she heard the lock click, Nic leaned back over the toilet, coughing and gagging, but she had nothing left. Her stomach was clenching relentlessly, and after she could catch a break, she groaned and leaned back against the bathroom wall. She texted Conrad her message, saying that she was doing better, in the hopes that he would breathe a little easier today. When she received his response almost immediately, she was glad that he would worry a little less about her, so she felt a bit more at ease herself.

But her body was telling a different story: her heart was beating loud and fast in her ears, she was sweaty, and her head was spinning. This was certainly something more than food poisoning, but she couldn’t figure out exactly what it was. She thought back to the past couple days, running through everything she ate, what patients she came into contact with, what volunteer work she was doing and what she could have been exposed to, but she came up with nothing that stood out. Her breathing was shallow, and her stomach felt as though it was tying itself in knots. She curled up on the floor, letting the cool tile soothe her burning head, and she cried.

 _I never get sick,_ she thought to herself. _And when I do, it’s never like this._ Something was seriously wrong, and she needed to figure it out, fast.

With a slight break in her nausea and stomach pain, she made her way downstairs to grab their first aid kit from the cupboard. She didn’t want to waste time looking through the materials down there, so she grabbed the whole kit, along with a banana and a piece of bread. Right as she reached for the drawer to grab a napkin, she felt sick. _Not again_ , she thought to herself. She rushed back upstairs, her stomach doing flips, and dropped her items on the counter before returning to her position over the toilet.

Once her nausea settled down, she grabbed the thermometer from the kit and took her temperature. _103°F?!_ she read, surprised. _No way, there has to be a mistake,_ she thought. She re-did the measurement, but it came back with the same result. She had a fever that was gradually getting worse, and it was already quite high. She grabbed a hand towel and soaked it in cold water before placing it across her forehead, trying to manage her fever before doing anything else. She found a couple over-the-counter anti-nausea tablets and quickly took them with small sips of water, wanting to keep her nausea at bay so she could focus.

She grabbed the blood-pressure cuff and stethoscope from her nurse bag, wanting to gather more information. She wrapped the cuff around her arm and placed the steth into it, putting the earpieces in so she could listen. Her hands were shaking, and she felt weak. Her breathing was fast, like she had just finished a hard run, but she was simply sitting down. Another point of concern. She increased the pressure on the cuff and let it out slowly, determining her BP was 80/60, which was on the lower end. When she checked her pulse, she found that it was racing, at 125 bpm when her resting HR was more around 60 bpm.

Her low BP, high HR, high fever, nausea and vomiting, and dizziness made for quite the complex and alarming picture, and she needed both her diagnostician to tell her what was wrong as well as her support to tell her it would be okay. Both of those roles were typically filled by Conrad, but she was still hell-bent on leaving him out of this, so she continued on her own.

So far, she was managing alright, but when she looked at her phone to check the time, she noticed it had only been one hour since Conrad left. She took a deep breath, trying to focus on figuring out what would do the most good right now. The anti-nausea meds were working wonders, and she was glad that she could go more than ten minutes without her face in the toilet. But her dizziness was getting worse, and her heart rate was increasing—she was worried about bleeding. She started palpating her abdomen, attempting to locate exactly where her pain was. She hissed when the touched the upper portion of her stomach and determined that this was the area where her problems were arising. In a split second, she realized this pain was familiar.

Immediately, she was taken back to her traumatic adolescence. Because her father was never around, her mother deceased, and her little sister using drugs, she felt her life slipping away, too. She needed to feel in control of something, anything. And she chose food. It began primarily because she couldn’t afford meals, so she rationed, but she began extremely restricting a few short months after. She liked the results, both of her body and in her psyche—something in her life was finally under her control. It was predictable and entirely dictated by her. Beginning her junior year of high school, she was eating very little. After she began college, she started binging and purging with the ebb and flow of stressors. She still needed to feel in control because she lost so much of her life to things she couldn’t do anything about. She wished she could stop, but she saw no other way. This was her only escape. She managed to stay on top of her schoolwork for the first two years, but as she entered her junior year of college, her body couldn’t take it anymore. She ended up collapsing one morning in the shower, and she was taken to the ER. When she awoke in her hospital room and her doctor said the words “eating disorder,” and “bulimia nervosa,” reality struck her profoundly. She spent a year of her life bouncing around treatment centers, trying to get better as fast as she could before the money ran out. When she was finally released, she decided that it would be her mission to help people who couldn’t help themselves, just like her doctors and nurses in treatment. She had a few not-so-great experiences when she was in-patient, but she would never forget one of her nurses who stayed with her through her best and worst and remained in contact even after she left that particular center. That nurse was what pushed Nic to not only pursue nursing school, but excel at it. She was in control then, of something else: her future. That was the beginning of getting her life back. But it stemmed from pain and deep trauma.

Those memories flooded her brain when she thought of the pain she felt when she was purging all those years ago. The pain she felt when she purged then was the same pain she felt now. Immediately she packed a bag and rushed to Chastain, worried for the worst. When she parked her car after the four-minute drive, she found that the anti-nausea meds were wearing off. Luckily, she brought a plastic bag with her, knowing that she would likely need to throw up again. When she did, though, she saw bright-red blood. She knew she was in trouble.

She stood up out of the car, but her vision went dark, her dizziness getting the best of her. She clutched the door, trying to stabilize herself, but it was no use. Before she collapsed, she heard someone say her name. She couldn’t quite figure out who it was, but she sure as hell hoped it wasn’t Conrad.

“Nic, hey, I thought you were out today—” Mina began, “oh my God, Nic!” she exclaimed when she saw Nic fall to the ground. Thankfully, she got there before Nic’s body could fully hit the ground, so she held her head before it made contact with the pavement.

Nic woke up after a few short seconds and started panic-breathing when she felt arms around her. “Wh-what happened? Mina?” she asked in a frenzy, her eyes wild with fear. “Don’t…” she whispered as Mina reached for her pager. “I can walk in,” she added.

“Nic, I’m sorry, but I won’t let you do that by yourself. Let me help you,” Mina replied, supporting Nic as she stood and let her body adjust to being upright.

“Th-thank you, Mina,” Nic replied, shuffling slowly and carefully to the hospital entrance.

When Nic walked into the ED, she looked like absolute crap, and everyone noticed. She was pale, she had blood down the side of her mouth, her gait was slow and forced, and she was clutching her stomach. Devon and Irving immediately went over to Mina and Nic when they noticed the two of them walk in. They started asking questions, but Nic was not feeling present at all. Her surroundings were going blurry again, and she felt sick. She leaned over away from the group, trying her best not to throw up on them, but because she really had nothing left, all she did was gag and spit blood. Mina, Devon, and Irving exchanged worried glances, and as Nic fell unconscious again, they caught her and put her onto a gurney.

A flurry of words and commands surrounded her, but she couldn't internalize any of them. She recognized the voices, but she couldn't quite make out what they were saying. She felt her body being touched, and when Devon started feeling around her abdomen, she cried out when he touched her sensitive upper stomach area. The only words she could make out were “page Conrad.” She tried to tell them “no,” but her voice was trapped. She couldn’t speak. She felt like a prisoner in her own body––opening her eyes was a great challenge, and speaking was an impossibility.

“What’s going on?” Conrad asked as he rushed into the room. “She said she was alright this morning, but I knew I should have stayed home. Something just wasn’t right. She felt warm. Too warm. And she had this look…” he said, speaking without giving himself time to breathe.

“Conrad, I am going to need you to take your stress level down because right now it’s at about a 14. We’re taking care of her, we’ve got this,” Mina replied, trying to make sure Conrad knew that Nic was receiving the best care.

He nodded and took a deep breath. He entered his ‘doctor mode’ and began asking questions about her current condition. Nic desperately wanted to tell him that she was sorry, and she forced her eyes open. Her frantic eyes were met with his very worried ones, but he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, whispering “it’s going to be okay. We’re going to take care of you, Nic. I love you. Stay with us now.”

She nodded, silently apologizing to him before she felt her eyes closing again. “She’s down again. Someone hang 2 units of O-neg and get the crash cart ready. Where are we at with the ultrasound?” Conrad fired.

Devon and Irving started the ultrasound and saw that she had a massive tear in her esophagus, right where it met her stomach. Conrad looked at the screen and his eyes went wide. “Mallory-Weiss tear,” he said.

“I’ve read about it, but I’ve never seen it,” Devon added.

“She might be in shock. We need to stop that bleeding,” Irving replied.

“Page surgery,” Conrad whispered, squeezing Nic’s hand.

“Mina?” Devon turned and asked.

“Yes?” Mina replied. “Nic has a massive Mallory-Weiss tear. She needs surgery or she’ll never stop bleeding. Who is her proxy?”

“Me,” Conrad whispered, a tear falling down his cheek. He looked up at Mina, Devon, and Irving, who were all watching him with wide eyes. None of them had ever seen him like this. He looked utterly broken. His heart was severed in two, and the guilt of leaving Nic at home this morning was eating him up. “This is my fault,” he whispered, shuddering as more tears fell.

Time seemed to stop. The monitors blaring, the IV’s, the fluids, her body so still. None of it felt real. He had countless patients who presented the same or even worse than how Nic was, but something about her specifically lying there made his stomach churn and his heart drop. This was Nic, _his Nic_ , and he didn't protect her. He failed her. A million thoughts swirled in his head, resulting in a hurricane-like deluge of worries and what-ifs. He was only brought back by Mina’s voice.

“This is not your fault. Mallory-Weiss tears happen, and they’re very treatable. We need to get her to surgery now, though. She’s already lost a lot of blood––” Mina began.

“Do it,” Conrad interrupted. “Please,” he pleaded, his voice breaking.

“I’ll prep the OR,” Mina replied before disappearing quickly out of the ED.

“Conrad, she’s strong. She will make it through this. And she has the best team––” Devon began, placing a reassuring hand on Conrad’s shoulder.

“Why didn’t she tell me?” Conrad asked, tears clouding his eyes as he met Devon’s eyes. He was completely broken. “She told me she was fine, why would she lie to me?”

“She was probably just wanting you not to worry. She knows how much Chastain means to you, and she wanted your first day back to be great,” Devon replied. “She probably thought she had it under control, but when she made it here for help, it was too late.”

“Well, it shouldn't have been. She shouldn't have had to be in that situation. I should have stayed. I should have––” Conrad said frantically.

“Conrad,” Devon stopped him. “There is nothing you could have done. You and Nic are the two most stubborn people I know. Nobody can stop you from doing what you set your mind to. And if she insisted you leave, then there was no way in hell you were staying with her. This is not on you or her or anybody. Things like these just happen, and nobody can predict them.”

“But I should have––” Conrad began.

“Stop,” Devon interrupted. “Focus on what you can do right now.”

Conrad nodded and walked next to Nic before they were about to take her into the OR. He kissed her forehead, still so warm, and whispered, “I love you, so much. You will be okay. You have to be. Please, keep fighting, Nic. I can’t… I can’t lose you.” He ran his fingers through her golden hair, and the transpo team arrived and started prepping her to move into the OR. Conrad, Devon, and Irving followed them the whole way, Conrad never letting go of Nic’s hand. When they approached the sterility line, Conrad reluctantly let her hand go, sinking down to the floor when Nic was moved into one of the OR suites.

Devon and Irving watched Conrad, not knowing what to say or do. This kind of behavior was so unlike him, and it was quite unsettling for Devon and Irving to see him this way. They remained in silence for a few minutes before Conrad let out a deep sigh and brought himself to stand. “I’m going to go in. I need to know she’s okay,” he whispered.

“We’re here for you, Conrad,” Irving remarked.

“And Nic is going to pull through,” Devon added.

“She has to,” Conrad replied, staring blankly at the ground in front of his feet. “Thanks for your support, guys. But I think I need a moment alone if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” Devon replied.

“You know where to find us,” Irving added, patting Conrad on the shoulder before walking back to the ED with Devon.

Once Conrad was left alone, he sunk back down along the wall and let a single tear escape from his eye. He knew he needed to be strong for Nic, but the truth was he was absolutely terrified. Mortified. He didn’t know what life looked like without Nic, and he never wanted to think about that situation. But here he found himself doing just that, and he saw nothing. Without her, his future didn’t exist. She was, is, and will always be his world. Even the simplest things reminded him of her. She occupied his headspace constantly. She meant everything to him. He couldn’t lose her. And he was to make damn sure that wouldn’t happen.

Before he knew it, he was back up on his feet, and they carried him to the observation theater in Nic’s OR. They had just begun the surgery, and Conrad watched every single second of it, never taking his eyes away, making sure the surgeons didn’t make a single mistake. Luckily, this surgery was relatively quick, and it went without a hitch. They performed the procedure without needing to make a single cut, and when they were wrapping up, Mina found Conrad’s eyes and she held his gaze, silently telling him that everything was going to be alright.

He could breathe again. Finally. Air rushed into his lungs as Nic was moved out of the OR and into the ICU, and he was even more relieved when he learned she didn’t need a vent, nor would she be on her sedative for much longer. He grabbed one of the plastic chairs from the corner of the room and brought it right up to the side of her bed. He slipped his hand into hers and waited for her to wake up. The nurse who adjusted Nic’s IV’s and started her antibiotics for her infection that accompanied her tear told Conrad that it might take a couple hours before she woke up, but he didn’t mind. He would stay with her for as long as it took.

He kept going over everything in his mind, replaying every detail he remembered, trying to understand how this happened. How they ended up here. A simple bout of food-poisoning could in no way cause a Mallory-Weiss tear unless she had a history of vomiting, which he couldn’t recall nor find immediately in her chart. There was still something missing. _If I had just caught this sooner, Nic might not have had to suffer_ , he thought.

He reviewed every single word on her chart, making sure he didn’t overlook a single thing. He sat there, holding her hand and scrolling through her patient history until he noticed her stirring. He set the chart down on the bed next to her as he grabbed her hand with both of his. She mumbled and fluttered her eyes open lightly.

Everything was blurry. Her mouth felt like a desert, she saw IV’s, and she heard the monitors.

“Nic?” a deep, soothing voice asked. “Nic, I’m here.” Conrad. It was Conrad’s voice. And Conrad’s hands in hers.

She tried to reply, but her voice was so dry. She reached up to touch her throat and Conrad got the message right away. He grabbed the cup of half-melted ice chips he had one of the nurses get for him, and he gently gave it to her. She placed it to her lips and let the cool ice slide down her throat. It felt so good, but she knew she could only have so many. She didn't want to risk hacking it back up. She handed the cup back to Conrad and tried to speak again.

“Conrad…” she whispered, her voice still raspy. She cleared her throat and began again, “Conrad, I’m so sorry.” Tears began to fall from her chocolate eyes, leaving small rivers down her cheeks.

“Oh, Nic, please,” Conrad whispered, bringing both of his hands to her face as he sat down on her bed right next to her. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m just so glad you’re okay. Is there anything I can get you? How’s your pain?” he asked as he gently wiped the tears from her face.

She sniffled, and through shaky breathing, she replied “I just need you.” She brought her hand up to the side of his face as she sat up a bit. She pulled him into her embrace, and she held him and never wanted to let go. He felt the same. When he thought he lost her, his life almost ended right there. Nic was everything to him, and he was everything to her.

“I should have told you sooner,” she whispered, breaking their silence and interrupting their whirlwinds of thoughts.

“Told me what?” he replied, pulling away slightly so he could meet her eyes with his.

“About my past. The reason I got so sick today,” she added. She inhaled deeply and fiddled with the PulseOx on her finger. “I bet you’ve been racking your brain trying to come up with an explanation of why what happened happened, and I am so sorry. You didn't deserve any of this.”

“Nic––” he began.

“But I have to tell you. You’ve been so supportive and transparent with me, even through all your trauma, and I haven’t done the same for you. And it was almost too late. I don't want to take that risk again,” she said. “When I was sixteen…” she began. And she told him everything––her family instability, her habits of needing to feel in control, her eating disorder diagnosis, and her treatment––and he just listened, hanging on her every word as if it were the most important thing he had ever heard. When she was done, the tears were flowing freely from her eyes. “And because I had that history of throwing up for years, just one little bout of food poisoning finally pushed things over the edge. I should have told you sooner, but I just couldn't burden you with all of this. You didn't deserve that. But you also didn't deserve to have your first day back at work ruined–– I am so sorry.”

“Nic, please don't apologize to me,” he began.

“But I had to. I really did. I put you through hell, and I am so sorry,” she replied.

“But I understand why you did it,” he added, reaching his hand to touch her cheek. “And I am so sorry that I wasn't there for you.”

“Conrad––” she whispered, feeling her heart breaking.

“Nic, I love you,” he interrupted. “And when I saw you on that gurney… I’d never felt pain or fear like that. I’m just so glad you’re okay. My first day back at Chastain was not ruined––today you showed me just how much I love you,” he said, bringing his face down inches away from hers. “But don’t do it again,” he whispered, chuckling softly before placing his lips gently on her forehead.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and brought his face lower so their lips met in a kiss full of relief and love. As they pulled away, their eyes locked with each other’s, and she whispered “I love you, too. So much.”

They held each other for a few moments before Conrad sat up, brushing through her hair with his fingers, causing Nic to close her eyes. “Do you need anything right now?” he asked.

“Mm,” Nic sighed. “You’re busy, I don't want to be a burden.”

“Oh now, I took the rest of the day off––I had easy cases today anyways. I didn't exactly need more of the three runny nose cases and one dehydration case I had. Plus, there is nowhere I’d rather be than right next to you,” he replied. “And you are never a burden to me. Ever. Do you understand that? I love you. More than anything.”

She smiled softly and dragged her hands up the front of his chest and around his shoulders, and she pulled him in for another kiss. “Now, when do I get the hell out of here so we can go home and put this whole horrible day behind us?” she asked, still smiling, her forehead pressed to his.

“We need a couple more images, maybe another ultrasound, and a few labs to confirm the antibiotics are getting rid of your infection, but if everything comes back clear, we should be able to go home in a few hours,” he replied, rubbing his hands down her arms.

“Thank goodness,” she yawned.

“I’ll let you rest a bit while I grab some more water for you. Did you want an apple juice, or do you just want water?” he asked, his thoughtfulness bringing a smile to her face.

“Conrad, you’re so sweet,” she began. “Water is perfect, thank you. I love you,” she replied before closing her eyes.

“I love you, too,” he whispered, kissing her forehead before standing up and walking out of the room.

After she got a bit more rest, she woke up feeling much less out of it. And she wasn’t just _feeling_ good. Her tests reflected that: her labs came back clean, the antibiotics were working, her ultrasound showed the surgery was a success, and the tear was completely sealed, meaning…

“I can go home!” Nic exclaimed, smiling ten miles wide. She sat up and threw her arms around Conrad as he kissed the top of her head. “Thank goodness. I mean, I knew working here was always a long day, but being a patient here—goodness, the day never ends. I swear, every second is longer when you’re a patient,” she giggled, still extremely excited about finally getting out of Chastain. She was still a little sore, but she was utterly thrilled to finally be filling out her discharge papers.

Conrad watched her, and his heart swelled. He was still riding his wave of relief after knowing and confirming Nic was alright.

Once she was finished, she was allowed to get changed back into her jeans from the morning along with one of Conrad’s sweatshirts, seeing as her shirt she was wearing was trashed. She smelled his scent on his sweatshirt, and she closed her eyes before pulling it over her head, letting herself feel enveloped by him and his presence.

Conrad knocked softly on the door and let himself in just as Nic was finished getting dressed, and his eyes widened when he saw her standing there in his sweatshirt. “Oh my God, if you didn’t just have surgery five hours ago…” he began, running his hands up and down her arms as his gaze traveled across her whole body.

“Just because I’m only allowed to eat soft foods doesn’t mean I have to abstain from…” she replied, her voice trailing off as her face inches closer to his.

“Nic…” he whispered.

“I love you, Conrad,” she whispered back, pressing her lips to his softly as her hands found their way to his hair and gently mussed it. “And I hope you know how sorry I am for today, for not telling you about my eating disorder, for letting my health get to this point, and for worrying you so much. You are everything to me, and I thought I was doing what was best, but really I was just scared. Scared to lose you like I’d lost so many people before. But now I see it. You’re different. And I love you different than I’ve ever loved anybody before. And I trust you. With my life. And I will be forever grateful for you, for today, and for every day we spend together.”

“Nic,” Conrad took a deep breath, “You are so incredible. Strong. Beautiful. And for you to have overcome all that you did and still put everybody’s needs before your own even when nobody had ever done that for you—you are a miracle. _My miracle_ , Nic. And I love you more every day,” he replied, tears in his eyes as he remembered just a few hours ago when Nic was lying unconscious on the gurney, on supplemental oxygen, attached to EKG leads, vitals up on the monitor. He was so thankful to see her standing before him, looking radiant and healthy, and he couldn’t wait to go home and hold her in his arms all night.

“How did I get so lucky?” she asked, interrupting his stream of thoughts.

“Are you kidding? Nic, I am the lucky one here. I have you,” he responded, tilting her chin up softly and kissing her again.

She let out a soft sigh as they both pulled each other closer, needing one another more than they needed oxygen.

“I love you,” he whispered in between kisses.

“I love you, too,” she replied. “So much.”

They pulled apart and pressed their foreheads together, holding each other in their space of relief and gratefulness. Times like these put things into perspective—and what they realized was their love for each other was stronger than they could have possibly imagined.

“Hey Conrad,” Nic said softly.

“Yes?” Conrad replied.

“Let’s go home,” she stated.

“I’d love nothing more,"he said, taking her hand in his, feeling their warmth and love radiating from their connection as they began to walk through the halls of the hospital.


End file.
